Don't Give Up
by chimere
Summary: Scully, Mulder and a painful conversation. Set three months after the events of "The X-Files: I Want to Believe".


Disclaimer: everything in The X-Files belongs to Chris Carter, I'm just borrowing some of it. Not making any money. Don't sue.

* * *

**Don't Give Up**

_By chimère_

Scully turned off the engine and opened the door, but paused before getting out of the car, just sitting there for a minute. The quiet of the countryside seemed somehow oppressive after the noise and rush of the city and the hospital. The air smelled of wet earth and new grass. A new spring, new hope, new life. She sighed, got out of the car and walked to the house, feeling stiff and hopelessly sad.

Scully had never understood how Mulder, often so purposefully and infuriatingly obtuse, could catch her moods so easily. There was no customary "What's up, Doc?" when she entered his study, even though his back was to the door and he shouldn't have been able to detect anything but her silence. Maybe he really did have eyes in the back of his head, she thought.

Mulder turned to face her. "What is it?" His voice, too, was softer and considerate the way it only got with her.

Scully sat down in a spare chair, wondering whether it would be wise to broach this subject, all the while knowing that she wouldn't be able to stop herself. Eight times. They had only spoken of it eight times during these six years, the eighth having occurred just three months ago when they'd been involved in the case of the abducted women.

Countless more times one or both of them had stared at photos of William taken during the first year of his life, but they had rarely spoken, because it was too painful. But this time it was too close to the surface again, too close to flowing over to keep it contained the way they did almost every day. She had to speak.

"It worked," Scully said in a voice sounding alien to her own ears, staring at her hands in her lap. "The boy, Christian. The stem cell treatment worked. The last round was completed successfully today and he should make a full recovery."

She could feel Mulder's gaze. He knew better than to interrupt.

"I saved him. A boy who was dear to me, but still just a patient, a stranger I'll probably never see again in my life." Scully finally lifted her eyes to Mulder's, and promptly her voice broke and the tears overflowed. "I saved him, and yet I couldn't save my own son."

There was a long silence. Their common pain hung in the air between them almost like something tangible, the absence of their son outweighing their own presences. Scully dropped her gaze, unable to bear seeing her desolation mirrored in Mulder's eyes. There was a reason they avoided this subject.

"You did save William, Scully." Mulder's voice sounded dangerously close to breaking as well, and yet there was a note of conviction in it. She just didn't know if she could believe him in this. "If you hadn't given him up, he could be dead now, or worse. Taken."

"How do we know he isn't? What if... what if I gave him up for nothing? What if we could have protected him better?"

Mulder sighed deeply and dropped his head into his hands. Scully knew that he feared that possibility as much as she did. "We couldn't even protect ourselves, or each other," he finally replied without lifting his head. "Not from the forces we were up against. But we were adults, and we'd chosen that life - well, at least I had, and then I'd dragged you into it with me. We couldn't drag our son into it as well. We couldn't risk his life like we were risking our own. He was helpless, he had to be protected. And the only way to do that was to make him disappear. Give him up."

Scully was grateful beyond words for the way Mulder spoke of this decision like they had made it together, lifting some of the terrible responsibility from her shoulders. At least she knew that he had forgiven her, even though she would probably never forgive herself.

"What do we do now? What is left to do?" She hated herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. It was unimaginably cruel of her, the only other person who knew the whole horrible truth, to say something like that to Mulder.

"Well, how about that vacation?" Scully flinched at the way Mulder's light tone failed to quite cover how stricken he was.

"We don't have much time for that." This time, to show her remorse, Scully spoke without cynicism or cruelty, trying to keep even the creeping hopelessness out of her voice. "I'm sure there's a lot you want to do."

"Even if there's not much point in chasing after monsters with a butterfly net? Even if you're not coming with me?"

Scully stood up and crouched in front of Mulder's chair, staring up into his eyes that held the indeterminate quality that had made her admire and respect and love him. It wasn't faith or hope, exactly - perhaps it really was just stubbornness, but it felt like more than that. For the thousandth time she wondered where he found his strength. "If anyone can do anything about this, it's you, Mulder. You will go to the end of the world and further if you have to. I know you will. And I will follow you."

Mulder's hands came up to cup her cheeks in a familiar and well-loved gesture. Softly he said, "Don't give up." Each word sounded as though it cost him, but still his voice carried conviction.

Scully smiled tremulously. "I can't give up. I've got you."

Mulder leaned his forehead against hers. "Then we're even."


End file.
